Shaffer's Stories
by sweetie buttons
Summary: Based on Young and Young at Heart. Several moments from Shaffer's.
1. To Be Free

"Here you go, sweetheart."

Sarah's eyes lit up as she saw the cover of the book in her father's hand. "Thank you, Dad." She added it to the ever growing pile by the wall. It was by the author of the most recent book she had read. She hadn't been huge on reading before, but now that they were staying at this place, it seemed like the only thing she did.

"If you ever need anything, just tell me."

"I don't need anything. Except..." Sarah paused, embarrassed. She had woken up that morning to feel something strange in her lower body. She knew what it was, as it had happened a few times before, and her father had explained it to her. It was extremely embarrassing, though.

"What?" Her father leaned closer, concern in his features. "What is it?"

"Um..." Sarah looked down at her lap, feeling her cheeks heat up. She forced herself to say it. "Tam..." She couldn't say the rest.

Carlos caught on, though. "Yes. Of course. Don't worry, sweetheart."

There was a pause. Desperate to change the subject, Sarah added, "Can't I come to the warehouse with you?"

Carlos shook his head firmly, growing stern. "No, Sarah."

"But why?" Sarah knew she should be happy she and her dad had found a safe place, but she couldn't help missing her home. It was so boring here. She just stayed in her room all the time. She wanted to go home, eat her favorite foods, sleep in her own bed. Or at least see what the rest of the place was like. "I just want to see what it's like. I'll stay by your side the whole time. Maybe I can even pick out books—"

"I said no," Carlos repeated sternly. His expression softened at the disappointed look on Sarah's face. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you have to stay in here. It's not safe outside."

"But it's just the warehouse—"

"Sarah." Sarah recognized that tone and went quiet. Then his tone softened. "Why don't you tell me about your books?"

Sarah's face lit up again. She headed to the neat pile she had made and picked one out, careful not to topple the pile over. Even as she told her dad about the book, she couldn't help the thought that crept into her mind. As soon as Dad wasn't looking, she'd try to escape her room and go outside, just once.

**This is based on another fanfic called Young and Young at Heart. The author said he was going to write a spinoff fic called Tales from Shaffer's, but I thought I'd try my hand at it.**


	2. Worth It

"I can't believe this shit," ranted Matt.

"I can't believe you forgot the guards check us," retorted Mick. His brother had tried to sneak some extra food at breakfast that morning. When one of the guards were going to check him like they always did, he had adamantly refused to be patted down, no doubt looking rather suspicious. They had eventually found a squashed strawberry in one of his pockets.

"Shut up!" snapped an irritable Matt. "They didn't have to take away my meals for the rest of the fucking day. You'd think I murdered someone or something."

"Are you seriously surprised?" retorted Mick. "You know how crazy the assholes running this place are. Remember that guy they starved to death because he talked back to a guard?"

Matt shuddered. "Thanks a lot, Mick."

Mick mentally kicked himself for his poor choice of words. He wasn't doing much to comfort his brother. "Sorry, man. Look, maybe it won't be that bad. It's only two meals, right?"

"Are you kidding? Haven't you noticed the pattern?" Matt asked incredulously. Mick had. Someone acted out, was forced to skip a day, was too weak to work the next, skipped a day again as punishment, and so on.

Until they starved to death.

"Now I feel like an idiot," groaned Matt. "Why didn't I remember the guards check us?"

"Hey, rookie mistake," said Mick. "You were hungry and not thinking clearly."

"But what am I going to do now?" asked a despondent Matt. "I'll just end up dead too."

"No, you won't." Matt replied quickly, immediately after Matt said that. Just the thought of his brother dead filled him with horror. He had already lost everything to this place, he couldn't lose Matt too. "Trust me."

Matt scoffed. "How can you know that?"

"Because I'll get food for you," assured Mick, trying to keep his voice steady.

Matt scoffed again. "Yeah, right. What're you going to do? Go up to the guards and beg them to give me food? Yeah, that'll go over real well with them."

Mick frowned. "You know, I might not help you if you act like that," he joked.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just... nervous. But seriously, what can you do?"

"I'll find out a way," assured Mick. "Just trust me."

* * *

It was worth it. All worth it, to keep Matt alive.

He remembered the promise he'd made when he had come to Shaffer's. Protect Matt. Well, that and escape the goddamn place that he had gotten them imprisoned at. But even if he couldn't escape, he could protect his brother. Matt was all he had, the only thing he cared about at Shaffer's.

He saw his brother's expression of confusion and relief when the plate of food was placed in front of him at lunch, and the brief glance at Mick. Mick simply nodded in response, silently telling him to eat. Watching Matt eat the food had made everything worth it.

"Didn't I tell you?" Mick asked his brother afterward. "And you're getting dinner as well."

"How did you do that?" Matt replied.

Mick felt his stomach clench at the thought. "That doesn't matter," he replied. "But I won't be able to do it again. So try to stay out of trouble from now on," he added jokingly.

Matt nodded. "Well, thanks, Mick."

"Don't mention it," replied Mick. The smile his brother gave him made him feel like it was worth it.

**I always liked Mick and Matt's relationship. Not many brothers are that close. What Mick did for his brother to get food for him was the ultimate act of love.**


	3. A New Friend

Sarah looked around, trying to memorize everything she saw and store it in her memory. She still couldn't believe her father had let her out of her room. She felt like a prisoner from one of her books who was let out for the first time.

She knew that was unfair. Her father wasn't her captor, and he was just trying to keep her safe. She should be grateful she had a nice room and constant gifts from him. But she couldn't help wondering what the rest of the place was like.

When her father finally decided to let her come to the Thanksgiving dinner, after much pleading on her part, she had been beyond excited, unable to believe it. Of course, he had drilled a bunch of rules and precautions into her head. Stay close to him, don't talk to anyone, do everything he says, all stuff she had already heard so many times.

There were so many people, bustling around and lining up for food, like Sarah and her father were now. Her father didn't like talking about the other people he met, despite the times Sarah asked. It was almost their turn to get food from the dark-skinned man behind the window. Sarah watched a curly-haired man in front of them head off holding a plate of rice and meat.

"I don't think I've seen you before, precious." Sarah noticed her father tense as the man spoke to her. "What's your name?"

"Sarah." She answered before her father could. He had told her not to talk to anyone, but it might be her only opportunity to. And this man seemed nice, smiling widely and speaking to her sweetly.

"Cookie." She almost jumped at the sound of her father's low, slightly angered voice. "Give my daughter her food."

"Oh, right!" The man seemed surprised, setting out a plate of rice and what looked like chicken on the table jutting out under the window. "Sorry, Carlos. I just haven't seen her before."

Her father didn't reply this time, nudging Sarah to collect her bowl. She did so as Cookie then set out two bowls with the canned fruit she sometimes got for meals in her room.

"It's yours, precious." She looked up, surprised, as she heard Cookie talk to her, and realized he was referring to the bowl of fruit. She took it with her other hand, slightly embarrassed, aware of the glare her father was directing at Cookie.

Sarah followed her father under a tent with three tables, all full of people. She wanted to cover her ears to drown out all the noise surrounding her, but couldn't. Her father sat down at the table furthest from the food line and Sarah seated herself next to him.

She looked hesitantly at the plastic cutlery in the centre of the table, unsure of whether to take it. Her father must've noticed, because he reached over himself and took a plastic knife, fork and spoon that he handed to Sarah.

She took a forkful of the chicken, inspecting it. It looked like roast chicken, one of her favorites before. She had never had rice or meat for meals here before. They were probably having it as a treat for Thanksgiving. Sarah vaguely wondered where they got all the food from. Cookie made it, of course, but how did they get the chicken?

She tried the chunk on her fork, and it tasted great. Not as good as the chicken she remembered eating before, but it was still warm and crispy. There was only a small amount on her plate, less than the drumsticks she liked having before. She had it with the rice, which tasted even better.

She was so invested in her meal, she almost didn't notice the woman talking to her father. She turned her head to look at them, chewing the chicken. The woman seemed quite old, her grey hair in a bun. She couldn't hear them too clearly, but her father appeared annoyed as the woman kept talking to him. He raised his voice, and Sarah heard him say, "Is it really necessary?"

The woman seemed unwilling to budge, so Carlos sighed and turned to Sarah. "Sarah, I'm really sorry. I've got to go to the hospital."

"Can I come with you?" She had often wanted to visit her father's hospital when he was working late, but he refused, leaving her with a babysitter. She thought it'd be cool to help him out there.

Carlos shook his head. "No, you have to stay here. I'll be back before you know it. Don't talk to anyone, and stay right here. Okay, sweetheart?" He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

"Okay, Dad." She was internally excited. She felt nervous about her father leaving, but she knew she'd now have a chance to look around, maybe even get to know people here. She'd never be able to with her dad watching her like a hawk, like he always did.

"Good girl." He kissed her again, then left with the woman, who seemed annoyed.

As soon as her father was out of eyeshot, Sarah looked around, wanting to know every person she saw. On her table, some of the people she spotted were the curly-haired man from before, a young blond man, and a red-haired girl at the far end. She was the one who caught her attention. She looked around Sarah's age, but a bit older.

It would be nice to have a friend. Much as she loved her father, she wished she had someone else's company during all those hours she spent in her room, especially someone who was a girl and around her own age. She sometimes pretended she had a friend like that, who she'd read books with and tell stories to. She knew it was childish, at her age, to have an imaginary friend, but she wanted a real one.

Remembering her father's instruction to stay in her seat, Sarah hesitated. She didn't like disobeying her father. Whenever she did, he'd look at her with that disappointed expression and tell her how disappointed he was and how he expected her to do better. It always made her want to cry, and it was the worst punishment she could think of.

But this might be her only chance to make a friend. Even if she couldn't see this girl much, since she spent all her time in her room, it'd be nice to talk to someone around her age just once. She couldn't remember the last time she had.

She nervously slipped out of her seat and walked over to the far end of the table, where the girl was. She was wearing a turquoise tracksuit and occasionally picking at her food with a bored expression, but not eating much. Sarah was right next to her now, but she didn't seem to notice. She cleared her throat.

"Um, hi."

The girl turned to look at her, surprised at first, but then a disdainful expression crossed her face. She ran her eyes up and down Sarah, as if judging her. "What do you want?"

Sarah was taken aback by her unfriendly demeanor, but couldn't back away now. "Um, I'm Sarah. What's your name?"

"Bridget." She paused before replying, so long that Sarah wondered if she wasn't going to answer.

"Would you like to be my friend?" Sarah felt excited now. "I'd really like one. I haven't seen another girl my age around here before." Well, she'd never really seen anyone, except for her father.

Bridget rolled her eyes at that. "You're not my age."

"Well... no," Sarah conceded, taken aback by her hostility. "You're probably older. But we're around the same age, right? How old are you?"

She didn't answer that question. "Why would I want to be friends with someone I just met?"

"Um..." Sarah paused, wondering why she was being so mean. She was just trying to be friendly. "So you don't want to be?"

She rolled her eyes again. Sarah took that as a no.

"But why not?" Sarah was starting to regret her decision to talk to this girl. She didn't seem very nice. "I mean, you don't have to be. But I spend most of my time here in my room. I'd really like a friend."

"I wouldn't want to be friends with a loser."

"A... loser?" Sarah was taken aback. "But how could you know I am if you just met me?"

"Because you look like one."

"I... do?" Sarah wondered if her clothes looked ragged, or her hair messy. Should she have made herself more presentable before heading out of her room?

Sarah was taken aback when Bridget raised her voice. "You act like one, too. I've never even seen you around before. Why would I want to be your friend?"

Sarah couldn't help it. She felt tears well up in her eyes. Why was she being so mean? She just wanted a friend, someone to talk to aside from her father. She remembered that time in school when the other kids had taunted her until she cried. She felt the exact same way now.

Bridget must've noticed. "Are you going to cry? Wow. Looks like you're a loser _and_ a baby."

Sarah tried to blink back the tears, but couldn't help one from escaping down her cheek. She regretted not listening to her father and leaving her seat. She wouldn't make any friends, at least not with this girl.

Bridget laughed. "I could tell you were younger than me, but not _that_ young. Let me guess, are you six? Maybe seven?"

Sarah turned around and started heading back to her seat, brushing away the tears. On the way, she bumped into someone—someone familiar.

She looked up to see her father, worry in his face. "Sarah! Where were you? I told you not to leave your seat!"

He paused, noticing her tears. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine." Sarah tried to will herself to stop crying. She was being such a baby. Maybe Bridget was right.

Her father's face darkened. "Is it that girl you were talking to?" He looked over at Bridget, who was now sitting back in her seat as if nothing had happened.

"No," Sarah lied. Despite how upset she was, she didn't want to get Bridget in trouble with her father.

"I saw her say something to you." Ignoring her protests, he walked over to Bridget, tapping her on the shoulder. Bridget turned to him, the same bored, disdainful look on her face.

Sarah was too far away to hear, but she saw them talking, both becoming increasingly annoyed. Eventually, Bridget turned angrily back to her meal while Carlos stormed off, a look of fury on his face.

"Come on, Sarah." She meekly followed him back to her seat.

"Dad, I'm—"

"It's fine, sweetheart. Just listen to me next time, okay?" He sat down next to her. "Don't talk to anyone here except for me."

"I just wanted to be friends with her," sniffled Sarah, feeling like crying again. "She was so mean."

"I'm so sorry, Sarah." He stroked the top of her hair. "But you have me to talk to. Don't forget that. You don't need anyone else here."

"I guess." She loved her father, but she wished she did have someone else. If only there was someone around her age she could talk to, someone she could be friends with, someone who wouldn't yell at her and call her a loser. Maybe even someone who's stand up for her against people who did.


	4. Secrets in the Dark

Mick's heart was hammering frantically and completely still at the same time. His breath caught in his throat, begging to be let out in a scream or gasp or cry, but he remained silent. Tears filled his eyes, begging to be let out too, but he blinked them back. Bile rose at the back of his throat, nausea invading his senses, but he held it in. He knew none of those things would go over well with her.

He shut his eyes tightly, the stinging of the tears trapped inside almost unbearable. The pain subsided slightly at the thought of his brother. Matt.

He pictured him in his mind. He could clearly see his annoyed glare when Mick teased him about his height, his faint smile of thanks when he hid food for him, his exhausted slump after a day of work. This was for him, Mick told himself, and the bile and tears receded, just enough to be bearable.

_For Matt. For Matt. For—_

"Mick! Mick, you alright?"

The voice caught his attention like a shock of thunder. He found himself being pulled away from the pain, away from the nausea, away from her—and back to his hard, lumpy bed in the dark room, a familiar hand shaking him. He quickly found himself looking up into the concerned face of his brother. He could make it out even in the darkness.

Without thinking, Mick instinctively reached out and placed a hand on his brother's face. He was so relieved to feel him there, to be free from his nightmare—which, only yesterday, had been reality.

"Are you okay?" Matt looked slightly taken aback when Mick touched him, but then quickly looked concerned again. "You were tossing and turning in your sleep."

"Did I wake you?" Mick pulled his hand away from his brother's face.

"Kind of," admitted Matt. "I was starting to go to sleep, but then I heard you."

"Oh... uh, sorry."

"It's fine. You were having a bad dream, right?" Matt placed his hand on Mick's forehead, as if checking for a fever.

"Yeah, but I'm fine now. Go back to sleep, Matt." The words came out harsher than he intended. He hated that his brother had caught him in such a vulnerable moment.

"Are you sure?" Matt pulled his hand away. "You seemed really upset."

At that moment, Mick got the sudden urge to tell Matt everything. What exactly he had done to get food, what he was dreaming about, why he flinched when Consuelo looked at him last night.

But it only lasted for a moment, a brief flash that disappeared instantly. He knew he couldn't give his brother—his little brother—the weight and distress of that knowledge. Mick had to deal with what he had been through alone. It was his choice, after all.

"I'm sure." He finally answered after a pause. "Really. I'll just go back to sleep." He likely wouldn't be able to any time soon. "You should too. You'll need your strength for work tomorrow."

"When do I not?" noted Matt.

"True. But seriously, you need your beauty sleep," Mick added playfully.

"Oh, shut up." Matt's concerned expression finally changed to a more relaxed one, and he briefly touched his brother's face one last time before reluctantly moving off the bed, leaving Mick alone and far less distressed than before.


	5. Speech Therapy

Gene surveyed the young boy in front of him, the most recently added member of Shaffer's. After he and some others had gotten him cleaned up, he was slightly more presentable, though he was still shocked to see such injuries on somebody so young. Even most of the adults he'd seen didn't have so many injures—noticeable ones, anyway. He had a few fingers missing from his hand, one of his ears missing, and, most noticeably, a gaping red hole where one of his eyes should be. Gene couldn't imagine what he had been through. He couldn't have been older than nine or ten.

Right now, he was trying to get him to talk. He had been a high school counsellor before everything had changed, so he had plenty of experience with children, though usually older ones than the boy in front of him. Nobody even knew his name. Pete had found him on one of his supply runs, where he had apparently looked even worse than he did now. He was currently staring down at the floor, his mop of dirty red hair covering his face.

"Hello," said Gene, using his most calm, pleasant voice. "My name is Eugene Spiegel, but you can call me Gene."

The boy didn't respond.

"You're lucky you ended up here," said Gene. "It's one of the safest places to be right now. We're trying our hardest to get a community going."

Again, he didn't respond.

"We have a farm, a kitchen, and a greenhouse here," continued Gene, speaking slowly so the boy could comment any time he felt like it. "The farm has chickens who lay eggs for us. We usually have them for breakfast. The kitchen is run by Cookie. He makes all the meals. I recently convinced Bill to give everyone a long lunch break instead of a short one. And the greenhouse is run by Dr. Bostwick. She's a brilliant scientist."

Again, no response.

"I heard one of our crew members found you," continued Gene. "You're safe here now. This is a good place, and no one here will hurt you." That was a bit of a lie, but he was trying to put him at ease.

The boy mumbled something, but Gene didn't pick up on it.

"What was that?" He tried to make his voice as gentle and encouraging as possible.

"Hurt me..." Gene had to lean in and strain his ears to hear.

"No, they won't hurt you," said Gene. "What's your name?"

The boy didn't respond.

"You have to tell me." Gene continued trying to speak gently. "Everyone here has a name." He mentally kicked himself for saying such a dumb thing.

When he didn't respond, Gene tried to joke. "Alright, maybe I can guess. Is it... Jack? Tom? Bill? George?"

He didn't acknowledge his attempts at humor or even look up. "Does it start with an A?"

To Gene's surprise, the boy mumbled something. "Oh, it does?"

He mumbled again, and Gene had to lean forward to hear. "Adam..."

"Adam? Did you say that?" Gene wasn't sure he had heard correctly, but figured that was the best he was going to get.

"Alright, Adam." To Gene's surprise, the boy looked up at that. He recoiled slightly upon seeing the red hole where his eye should be.

Gene forced himself to smile at him. "Thanks for telling me, Adam."

The boy didn't respond, but Gene figured he had made enough progress for the day. He'd have to tell Bill he had found out his name. He greatly pitied the boy, who seemed like he had been through a lot at such a young age. This wasn't the greatest place for a child, but really, nowhere was these days. And Gene had faith that this community would evolve and become something big, something hopeful and promising amongst all the death and depression. It was the best the world could get right now, anyway.


End file.
